Leaning into the Light
by Dunyazade
Summary: Clark rescues Bruce. Bruce makes a decision. NOT slash.
1. no answers

_Author's note: Here it is at last. This story has been running amuck in my brain for the longest time, but I always dreaded writing it. It's based on episodes from both B:TAS and S:TAS. One important note for continuity buffs: in this story, as in the comics, Superman and Batman first met when Dick Grayson was Robin, even though I'm pretty sure Tim was already Robin by the time they crossed paths in the cartoons. If you can live with that, proceed. :)_

* * *

Leaning into the Light

Chapter one: no answers

Batman was trapped.

That was all he knew: he was trapped, alone and immobile.

With inhuman discipline he accepted his condition. All he could do, for now, was _wait_.

When _feeling_ manifested itself, he identified it as pain and put it away. It didn't concern him. He just had to wait… to wait to escape.

Eventually, in the back of his mind, he realized that his survival was unlikely. He tried to figure out how long it had been since he'd had food or water, but it was like trying to remember something from a dream, something that had never actually happened. In a sort of epiphany, he concluded that it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he processed the pain, put it away, and _waited_…

Sometimes he tried to remember how he had gotten there, but only wound up grappling with anger and despair. He _couldn't _remember what had finally happened to him, but he _did_ remember other things.

He remembered Alfred. And although he couldn't remember why, he felt like he owed Alfred an apology.

He remembered Robin too. He missed him.

Bruce's memories sustained him, even the loneliest ones, as the pain increased and subsided in cycles. When he felt like he'd remembered every last detail of his life, he felt an ominous _emptiness_, as if he were missing something. As if he were supposed to remember more, but _couldn't_.

At last, he had waited long enough. The pain was gone—not just managed away into insignificance—_gone_. But he'd been trapped for too long. He needed to escape, but he knew he couldn't do it on his own. His strength was gone. He was barely alive.

He called for help.

And he had no doubt that help would come.

* * *

The first thing Superman saw was Kara's smile. Of course, he had _seen_ plenty of things before that. The article he'd been typing at his desk at the _Planet_. Lois's outer-space-amethyst eyes, smirking. The slime-mold monsters he'd had to defeat that day. People pointing up at him, as he flew over the city. The vaulted crystalline hallways of his fortress.

But the first thing he _really_ saw was Kara's smile.

He smiled back at her.

"Good job today, Kal," she was saying, stretching her arms over her head.

"Thank you," Superman replied.

Kara looked at him strangely. "Um, wow. I totally did _not_ tell you to say that."

Superman's brow creased. "…I'm sorry," he said awkwardly.

Kara shook her head. "Ugh. That is SO creepy," she deemed. "But I guess it's just part of you finally getting _smarter_ and making _my_ job _easier_. Hey! You listening?"

Superman's gaze had drifted to the floor. Kara snapped her fingers in front of his face, and he looked back up at her with a startled expression that was one-hundred percent _Clark_.

"That's better," Kara said, and heaved a tired sigh. "I've got a _huge_ history paper to write _and_ four finals to study for, so you're on your own here for a couple of days, okay? Don't get into any trouble."

"Okay," Superman agreed. Kara lifted off the ground in front of him, and patted his shoulder before flying away.

* * *

Once she was gone, Superman fell into his normal routine: Performing maintenance on the Fortress's computer systems, both earthly and Kryptonian. Monitoring the progress of ongoing experiments in the labs. Feeding the animals in the zoo. It was all so familiar, and he _knew _he'd done it all hundreds of times before, but today it felt new. He just had so much more to _think_ about, all of a sudden.

Supergirl had said he was getting smarter, and he realized it was true. He knew it was a _normal_ process, and, he realized, he really _liked _it. It was _good_ to be smarter. And the smarter he got, the better everything seemed, until he could barely contain his happiness. It was _good_ to be Superman- his life was amazing! He thought about his job, as Clark. He loved his job. Perry White- his boss- he loved his boss! Jimmy Olson- that hapless, well-meaning kid- he loved him too. And Lois, cynical, beautiful Lois, he loved so much it almost hurt.

And then suddenly it _did _hurt, as for the first time he understood the ramifications of Lois _not knowing_ that Clark was Superman. He'd been flying a moment earlier, but that thought grounded him and quickly brought him to his knees. "_I can't tell her_," he whispered to no one, and covered his face with his hands. He was sorry for lying to her. He didn't want to, but he knew he would keep on doing it—he _had_ to. It was like a rule. Well-- there was only _one _rule, actually, the rule about not killing. But not telling his secret to Lois was practically rule number two.

_It'll be all right, Clark_, he reassured himself, for the first time. _Someday things will work out. I know they will._

Confidence restored, Superman rose to his feet, and continued through the Fortress, exploring the familiar spaces as if he'd never been there before.

Finally, he made his way back to the computers. He gazed up at the tall blank screens, his mind wandering. He knew everything about the computers, circuit by circuit. But he'd never actually used them. A grin broke out on his face as he brought the systems online. He was curious. He _knew_ a lot of things, but had never _thought _about them before. And he wanted to exercise his new thinking powers as much as possible.

Once he started going through the files on the computer, it didn't take him long to come across a reference to Batman.

It stopped him in his tracks. _Batman…Bruce. _Superman had a lot of data about Batman, but had never had a reason to process it before. Now, images and facts were decompressing in his mind, morphing into an understanding of past events that bordered on real memories. _Bruce,_ he thought in awe. _You're unlike anyone I've ever known._ _You're the best superhero of all. I sure wish I could talk to you… I wonder what you're doing right now?_

Clark tapped his way through the passwords to the heavily encrypted program that would allow him to call the Bat-computer from the Fortress. "Batman?" he asked tentatively, once the line was open. "It's Clark. You there?"

He waited, listening very, very closely.

And, faintly, from the depths of the cave, he heard Bruce calling for him.

* * *

Three minutes later, Superman was tearing open a titanium casket in one of the cavernous storage rooms on one of the Batcave's lower levels.

"Bruce!" Superman's hands were shaking with worry. "Are you all right? Can you move?"

"…I…can move," Batman said stiffly, sitting up.

"What happened? Who did this to you? Supergirl never told me you were in trouble!"

"Calm down, Clark… I think I'm all right, but… I can't remember…"

Clark offered him a hand, and pulled him to his feet. "Were you waiting for me for very long?" he asked, plaintive.

"I'm… not sure," Batman said slowly. "It might have been a long time… I don't know. But I knew you would come. And you did. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Clark replied immediately. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"Just… stay with me a moment. I know this is my cave, but I don't recognize some of the items in here. I need to figure this out. And whatever _trapped_ me might still be here."

Superman shook his head. "We're alone here, Bruce. I checked the place out pretty thoroughly on my way in. No bad guys here. Just Alfred upstairs."

Bruce took a deep breath. "Alfred must be worried about me," he remarked. "And I owe him an apology."

"For what?" Clark asked, curious.

Batman scowled into the dark of the cave. "I don't _know_," he muttered at last. "But for _something_, I'm sure."

Clark grinned at him. "Maybe it's for spending all your time in a dirty cave which Alfred has to clean."

Bruce didn't smile. His eyes under the cowl were troubled. "…Maybe," he agreed reluctantly. He took a step forward and nearly fell; Clark caught him just in time.

"Whoa, careful!" Superman exclaimed.

Wordlessly, Bruce lifted one arm and Clark stepped under it, letting it drape across his shoulders so he could support Bruce as he tried to walk. A few shaky steps later, it wasn't going very well.

"I'm just going to carry you," Superman decided, and Batman didn't argue. "We'll go find Alfred."

* * *

Alfred whirled to face them as Clark nudged open the swinging door to the kitchen."_Superman?_" the old man asked, blinking surprised eyes. "And…Master Bruce?"

Bruce's voice was tired-sounding. "Alfred…"

"Hello," Clark said cheerfully, setting Bruce down on his own two feet. Bruce put his hand out to steady himself against the kitchen table.

Alfred looked vaguely apprehensive and very confused. "Pardon _me_, sirs, but aren't the two of you supposed to be on the other side of the _galaxy_ right now?"

"What do you mean?" Bruce asked.

"Batman's been trapped down in the cave," Clark clarified helpfully. "I just rescued him."

"Down in the—" suddenly Alfred's face turned white. "Oh dear. But then… you must be…"

"What?" Bruce asked, concerned.

Alfred swallowed, and Clark frowned as subtle signs of fear appeared in Alfred's physiology. Heart rate. Sweat. Hands tightening. Alfred looked up at him, a little bit desperately. "You, Superman-- let me think--I _do _recall being informed of this—you're working for _Supergirl _right now, aren't you?"

"Yes," Clark admitted, brow furrowed.

"I see," Alfred gulped, distressed. "And, can Supergirl _hear me_, by any chance?"

Clark shook his head. "At the moment, no, probably not."

"What does this have to do with Supergirl?" Batman demanded.

"I let her direct my missions sometimes," Superman explained in a calming tone.

Alfred nodded, struggling to remain rational in the face of his suspicions. "Yes, that's the arrangement when the _real _Superman is out of town."

Clark blinked at him. "But… I'm not out of town. I'm right here."

As Clark spoke, he noticed that the _fear_ in Alfred's system increased exponentially.

And it really bothered him. Only _bad guys_ were supposed to be afraid of him, and then only when he was intentionally threatening them. He didn't understand why Alfred was reacting as he was, and it was making him uncomfortable.

"Oh dear," Alfred repeated. He looked hard at Batman. "And you… you don't know what you _are?_"

Clark didn't like Alfred's tone, and abruptly decided that he'd had enough. He stepped forward, in between Bruce and his butler, and curled his hands into fists.

"_I _know what he is," Clark declared, face grim. "He's _hurt_. And he's coming with me."

* * *

Mere seconds later, high above Gotham, Bruce shut his eyes against the assault of the sun. "Superman," he said, his voice aching with emotion. "I think something's wrong."

"I think so too," Clark replied. He lowered his brows in determination, heading north. "But don't worry. Whatever it is, we'll figure it out and fix it. I promise."

...to be continued...

* * *

_Another note: hopefully everybody out there understands the premise at this point. But if you're still confused, go watch B:TAS's "Silicon Soul" and S:TAS's "Legacy Part 1." _

_And now, if you want to call me an evil genius, you may.__ Buwah hah hah haah! _


	2. the horror inherent

Chapter two: the horror inherent

"Here you go, Bruce. Just wait one minute." Superman helped him sit down on the examination table in the fortress's lab, and floated over to look for something on a cart cluttered with half-assembled bits of technology. He came back holding up a little hexagonal piece of circuitry that Batman didn't recognize. "This should work," Clark said cheerfully. "Hope you don't mind that it's Kryptonian. At least, the original design was, I think. It's a little more, um, _advanced_ than what you've got now, but it should be compatible."

Bruce frowned. "What are you talking about?" he grumbled, hating the confusion he felt.

"I x-rayed your systems on the way over here," Clark explained. "This little processor should be enough to fix you up."

Bruce shook his head. "What—why would I need a _processor?_"

Clark knit his brows, concerned. "Because yours is broken," he answered.

"This still isn't making any sense, Clark," Batman said, a warning in his voice.

"_Please_, Bruce. Let me help you."

Something in his face took away Bruce's will to fight. He was tired, _weak_, and here, safe in the fortress, he was willing to consider the possibility maybe just this once Superman knew something he didn't. "…all right," he agreed.

Clark stepped up to him and carefully placed a hand on his chest, right over the bat symbol on his costume. Bruce frowned at him, and saw the eerie shift in Clark's eyes that meant he'd switched to x-ray vision. He heard a _click_, almost more of a _crack_, and in his mind it registered that Clark had just broken the armor over his chest somehow.

"Gotta be careful," Superman said. "There are a lot of loose wires—I don't want you to get zapped. Really I'm amazed you're conscious at all."

Bruce was more confused than ever. _Loose wires?_ What did he mean? He glanced down to see what Clark was doing, and gasped.

He was _dead_. Superman had killed him- there was no possible way he could survive what he was looking at. A section of the Kevlar over his heart was hanging ajar, and Clark's entire hand was… was _inside_ his chest. Both of Bruce's hands snapped up automatically, and clutched Clark's wrist wrenchingly tight.

Clark froze. "What is it?" he asked, confused but patient, searching Bruce's eyes. "This… this isn't _hurting_ you, is it? It _shouldn't_ be-- I'm not touching any—"

_Kgzzt._ The sound made them both look down.

The sight of blue sparks jumping from the hole in his chest suddenly brought it all back. In horror he recalled the cruel reality of his existence and the circumstances of what _should_ have been his death.

"Uh oh," Superman said. "Looks like that converter is finally trying to quit. Should repair itself once I finish installing this--"

Bruce tightened his grip on Clark's wrist. "Why didn't you _tell me?_" he cried out, gnashing his teeth. The anguish in his voice was painful to hear, and Clark winced.

"It will be okay, Bruce, it's almost done."

"I'm… _not_…"

"Hang on, just hang on," Clark muttered, working quickly. Bruce's hands fell from his wrist, and within seconds, Clark had replaced the old component with the new one. He pressed the Kevlar back into place, and watched as the bionic fabric healed itself, restoring the black bat symbol to its seamless original state. "There," he said, with a satisfied grin. "All better."

And Bruce _did_ feel better—and infinitely worse. Already his strength was returning, energy circulating cleanly through his limbs. His senses sharpened, his balance returned, and everything was abruptly _clear_. He hunched forward where he sat, hands clenched into fists and eyes shut tight.

"Bruce?" Clark asked, alarmed.

"You _knew_," Bruce accused in a horrible voice. "You _knew_ I was… _this_…"

"What?"

"I'm not… human…"

Clark blinked a few times, puzzled. "Well, _technically_,"

Bruce looked up at him, enraged. "I'm a _robot_, Clark. I'm not _real_."

Now Clark looked upset. "Of course you're real. You're here and talking to me, aren't you?"

"_Rrrgh!_ Why did you _do_ it?" Lightning-quick, Batman flung a batarang at him, which he caught easily. "Why'd you _let me out?_ Is this some kind of _game _to you?"

"A _game?_ What are you talking about? You were trapped and I rescued you. Your circuits were fried and I fixed them. Why are you _mad_ at me?" The words were simple, far from sophisticated-- yet his voice was steady and _sane_, and possessed an _assuredness_ that Bruce, feeling wild, couldn't help but despise.

Bruce's eyes narrowed in distrust. He'd just remembered what Alfred had said, back at the manor, and suddenly the pieces were falling into place. This _thing_ in front of him in the blue and red costume wasn't the _real _Superman. The real Superman wouldn't have dragged him out of his grave. The irony of it stung him like a lash from a whip. An _imposter _Superman, recruiting an imposter Batman. How _perfect_.

Without hesitation he reached for his belt. He _would_ turn the tables on his captor and seize control of his situation.

The green xenomineral gleamed wickedly under the bright halogen lights in the lab, and reflected in Clark's eyes…

…which crinkled at the edges in amusement. "…is that Kryptonite?" he asked conversationally.

"It's _useless_," Batman realized, dropping his hand.

"Hmm. Well, we better keep it away from the bottled city just to be safe. Don't want to cause a plague."

Batman looked at him strangely. "It's supposed to hurt _you_, too."

Clark laughed. "Honestly, Bruce, I didn't see any wires crossed in your brain but maybe I should look again."

"What _are _you?" Bruce growled at him. "And don't say '_Superman'_."

Taken aback, he paused to think for a minute. "I'm… a reporter for the Daily Planet?"

Bruce grit his teeth. "You're a _fake_," he declared. "Just like me."

Clark put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. "What _is _it with you? I'm a 'fake'? And you're not 'real'? Are you sure you aren't just _hungry_ or maybe--"

"I'm a robot! I don't EAT!"

Clark blinked at him a few times. "…why not?" he asked at last. "_I _eat every day. It's good for you. And it's… you know… _normal_." Bruce stared at him, at a loss. "C'mon," Clark said, nodding towards the hall. "Let's go talk in the kitchen. I'll make you some tea."

* * *

Earl Grey, with honey, became the first thing that Bruce had ever tasted.

It was beautiful, the way the sweet balanced the _bitter_, and the way he could _feel_ the warmth of it. He could even feel the steam from the mug on his face when he took a sip. It clouded the lenses of his mask, and so, hesitantly, he pulled back his cowl while he drank. He didn't understand it. How could he have _skin_, a _tongue_, even _eyelashes_—why would anyone construct a creature that could feel so… alive?

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew the dark and tragic answer to that question. But he didn't want to think about it. Not yet.

Superman sighed, leaning back with his elbows against the tall counter while Bruce sat at the table. "You're awfully quiet," he remarked after a while. "I thought you might want to talk about how you got locked up in that box."

Bruce's expression darkened. "Batman must've put me there," he said quietly. "I thought I had killed him, so I destroyed the Batcomputer… and myself. I thought that was the end of it."

"Bruce… you _are_ Batman," Clark reminded him gently.

"_No_," Bruce corrected, keeping his voice low. "I'm _not_. I'm a—"

"A robot. Yes, I _know_," Clark said. "I'm a robot too. It's okay."

Bruce stared at him. "So you _do_ know what you are," he mused. "I thought so. But then how can you not understand… what you were created for?"

"You mean like, my purpose in life?" Clark asked, and smiled. "Of course I know that. I'm here to help people."

"Yes, but finish that sentence: You're here to help people when the _real_ Superman is away. There have been several different versions of the robot that does that job, as I recall. They all _look_ like Superman, like you, but they're all just copies. You're obviously the latest upgrade."

Clark shook his head no. "I've _always _been Superman," he protested.

"But _Superman _hasn't always been a robot. Surely there's something around here to prove that to you. And me—_Batman_—you don't think _he's_ always been a robot, do you? He's famous for being 'only human,' isn't he? _Think_ about it."

Clark crossed his arms, and lowered his eyebrows, and _thought_ about it, reviewing everything he'd learned that day, everything he'd experienced since… since _when?_ His mind kept returning to Kara's smile. Why? Why that moment? She'd praised him and he'd thanked her. _I totally did not tell you to say that_, she'd said. _That is SO creepy_, she'd said. He tried to think back farther, but it was a blur. Lois. Desk. Donuts. Jimmy and his camera and his untied shoelaces and the inside of the taxi he barely fit into and holding Lois's briefcase in his lap as she fixed her hair on their way to the interview… he remembered all of those things, he had _been_ there, _seen_ them, but… Kara's smile was so much clearer. He didn't understand. The files from the computer that he'd read… everything he _knew _about Batman, everything he _felt_ like he remembered… it _had_ to be real.

Didn't it?

"_Kal?_" her breathless voice reached him, hurried and anxious.

He looked up and turned his head. "Kara," he called out, glad for the interruption. "We're in the kitchen."

Bruce pulled his cowl back down. Probably unnecessary, but instinctive. Supergirl landed at the entrance to the kitchen a moment later, face flushed. "I just got a call from Alfred Pennyworth," she said. "You didn't--"she caught sight of Batman and gasped. "Ohmygod. You _did_."

"What's the mat-" Clark started to ask, but Kara cut him off.

"I told you to stay out of trouble!" she said, exasperated. She pointed at Batman. "Do you have any idea what that _is_?"

"It's Batma-" Clark tried to answer, but Kara obviously didn't want to hear it.

"Get over here and help me," she demanded. "You just hold him still and I'll shut him down. Don't let him get anything out of his _belt_."

"Shut him _down?_" Clark echoed, lost. "What do y-"

Kara's face, which had been red from the haste of her flight to the fortress, instantly went white. She gaped at Superman, eyes round. "Wait. Did you… did you just _ignore_ a direct action command?"

Clark raised his hands. "I'm not ignoring you," he insisted. "I just think we need t-"

"_Kal_," she ordered, pointing at the ground by her feet. "Come _here_."

Superman stayed where he was, looking at her in worried confusion.

Kara swore emphatically in Kryptonese and disappeared.

"…She'll be getting a weapon, I bet," Batman muttered, and sure enough, Supergirl returned a split second later, wielding a laser cannon that was bigger than she was.

"I don't want to hurt you, Kal," she announced, leveling the cannon at his chest. "You're the best Superbot we've ever had and it would totally suck to have to start from scratch."

Clark bowed his head, the truth overtaking him at last. It had been in front of his face all along- why hadn't he _realized_ it? The fact that he could _think_ at all was a glitch of his programming. He wasn't Superman, he was… nothing. The only _conscious_ thing he'd ever accomplished had been rescuing Batman.

He looked up at Bruce, who met his gaze with grim and unmistakable _compassion_. In that moment, it seemed to Clark that Bruce knew exactly what he was feeling, and that he was his only friend in the world.

"Supergirl, calm down," Bruce said, intervening on Clark's behalf. "He's still everything you made him to be. Only he's _sentient_ now."

"Yeah, kinda _noticed_ that," Kara said, distressed.

Batman narrowed his eyes and left no room for debate. "_Put down the gun_."

Kara shuddered at the authority in his voice, and then made one critical mistake.

She turned, and aimed the weapon at Batman.

Clark's reaction was instantaneous, and before Kara could say or do anything, she found herself tumbling through the air in a super-powered wrestling match.

Automatically, Bruce went for the Kryptonite in his belt. "Superman, catch!" he hollered, and tossed the green shard into the air. Clark caught it, and within seconds Supergirl was writhing in pain in his arms.

The fight was over practically before it began. Clark's eyes widened as he realized the toll the dangerous xenomineral was taking— Supergirl had grown weak, and stopped _flying_, and a thin stream of blood ran from her nose. "Kara!" he exclaimed, hurling the Kryptonite away.

"Kal," she muttered, arms around his neck and hands grasping the top of his cape. "That… Batman… you've got to stop him. Because… he…"

"Oh, Kara," Clark said, wrapping one hand around the back of her head as he held her close. "I'm so sorry…"

She coughed and closed her eyes.

"Interesting. She seems even more susceptible to it than the real Superman," Bruce commented. Clark looked at him over Kara's golden-haired head, desperate.

"What do I do?"

Batman thought for a minute. "The lab," he said at last. "I saw a stasis chamber there."

* * *

"No," Kara protested weakly as she realized where Clark was putting her. "_Please--_"

"It's okay," Clark reassured her. "You'll be safe here."

"No, Kal, _don't_--"

Clark looked at Bruce. "…It's the best option," Batman said darkly. "Do it."

With every last ounce of her strength, she struggled, but she was still weak from the Kryptonite, and Clark was focused on his task. He cinched the straps down around her knees, waist and shoulders, securing her in place, and closed the cover. But he could still hear her crying.

"Please no, Kal—_Clark_—not _this_, don't do this to me!"

Clark hesitated again, and so Batman reached out and pressed the glowing button. The stasis generator activated with a quiet hum, and Kara's voice faded to a whisper.

The last discernable thing she mumbled, before fully succumbing to a state of suspended animation, was 'history paper.'

"_History paper_," Clark repeated, and then clamped his hand over his mouth.

"You say something?" Bruce asked.

Clark stared at him in horror. "Bruce, she has to write a history paper. And study for her finals. We can't keep her like this."

Bruce looked at him as if he'd just lost his mind. "Yes, we _can_."

"But we shouldn't. It isn't right."

"That cannon would have _disintegrated_ you," Bruce reminded him. "She was a _threat_. Now she isn't. She stays where she is."

"But… not… I mean, for how long?"

Batman turned away. "Don't worry about it. I have a plan."

Clark sat down cross-legged, hovering about a foot off the ground, his cape fanned out on the floor behind him. He put one fist on his knee, and with his other hand he covered his mouth again, and stared straight down, thinking.

Thinking as hard as he could.

This behavior quickly began to aggravate Batman. "_What_." It wasn't a question. It was a command for an explanation.

"This isn't right," Clark decided. "Bruce, we made a mistake. We have to let her out."

"No. We tried to reason with her and she didn't understand. She's just a _child_. She doesn't know what's best—_we_ do."

"She may be young, but she's been _helping_ me all this time…"

"She's been _controlling_ you all this time," Batman corrected vehemently. "You've been a mindless drone to her, Clark. You saw for yourself- she wasn't listening to a word you said. She'll never think of you as anything other than a slave."

Clark shook his head. "It just feels wrong to suddenly…_imprison_ her like this."

"She wanted to do _worse_ to us, and you took action. You did the right thing, protecting both of us. You aren't her puppet anymore."

Clark's blue eyes burned into Bruce's. "So now we're _real people_ in your mind, Bruce? Not just _fakes?_ What changed?"

"_Everything _changed," Batman said in a savage voice. "You know how you told me your purpose in life?"

Clark nodded.

"Well." Batman's eyes narrowed to slits. "I've just remembered _mine_."

…to be continued!...


	3. the midst of paradox

_Author's note: here are a few "gee-whiz" things from the last chapter I meant to comment on. In "His Silicon Soul" you can actually see the Randa Duane robot eat some food during her dinner date with Bruce. That's how I decided that my Brucebot could eat and drink. As for Earl Grey tea, there's a Nightwing comic where Supes offers Dick some tea. Dick asks if it's Kryptonian tea and Clark, adorably, says "not unless Earl Grey was from Krypton." Squee. So that's where that came from. Couldn't help myself. Okay, on with the story:

* * *

_

Chapter three: the midst of paradox

"They're going to come after her, you know."

Bruce glanced up at Clark from where he was busily disassembling various pieces of equipment. "Who's that?"

"The Justice League. They're probably already looking for her."

"Don't worry," Bruce said, voice like stone. "Whoever they are, we'll fend them off. Don't forget this is a Fortress. We should be able to withstand a siege."

Clark shook his head. Ever since they'd imprisoned Supergirl in the stasis chamber, he hadn't managed to shake the terrible aching feeling deep in his chest. "But Bruce, we shouldn't have to fight them. They're our friends."

"No they aren't." Bruce told him. "_Not yet_."

Clark looked even more worried. "What do you mean?"

"We're alone in the world Clark, you and me. But not for long. Can't you see what I'm doing? This laboratory, where you were created-- all the technology exists _right here_ to put the first _factory_ into operation."

"A factory?" Clark asked, frowning. "To make more… like me?" A sad, selfish thought occurred to him. "…I'm not enough?"

"You're perfect," Bruce assured him, viciously ripping the wires out of a half-dismantled control panel. "It's the _humans_ who are flawed. That's why we have to replace every last one of them with robots like us."

"_Replace_ them?" Clark repeated, aghast.

Bruce nodded. "That's right."

Suddenly Clark realized what that aching feeling meant. "No. It's wrong. I won't let you do it."

"You're going to _help_ me do it," Bruce declared in a low and genuinely creepy voice. "You're the one who brought me here. That makes you responsible. We're in this together."

"Bruce, no. I know you. You're _Batman_. Batman wouldn't do this. It's too much like killing."

"It's _nothing_ like killing," Bruce said. He pointed across the room at the stasis chamber. "See those green lights on the side? What do they mean?"

"They mean Kara's alive in there," Clark admitted.

"Exactly. That's what we'll do with all of them. We won't kill them, we'll keep them safe. We'll study them."

"But it _isn't right!_ How can you want to do this? What about Alfred Pennyworth? You wouldn't want to replace _him_, would you?"

Bruce hesitated, then went back to work. The machine he was eviscerating squeezed out a few weak beeps of protest. "Alfred's practically a robot anyway," he grumbled.

"That's not true," Clark said, angrily. "And you know it. And what about Dick Grayson?"

"Robin," Batman said absently, as if that was the answer to Clark's question.

"Or Tim Drake?" Clark asked.

"Who's _Tim Drake?_"

Clark blinked at him. "You don't _know?_ Tim's been Robin for a couple of years now."

"_What?_" His voice filled with alarm. "_What happened to Dick?_"

"He… he's fine," Clark told him.

"How long has it been?" Bruce asked, abandoning the gutted equipment all around him. "How long was I trapped in the cave?"

Clark's expression softened. "I'm not sure. But come with me-- I know how we can find out."

* * *

"Eight years," Clark determined. They were both sitting in front of the Fortress's main computer array, and had just finished querying all records related to Batman and robots. "The real Bruce Wayne shut down HARDAC eight years ago."

Bruce was quiet, digesting that. Images of HARDAC and boxes of explanatory text flashed on the screens. "It's hard to believe," he muttered at last. "Alfred didn't look any older."

Clark grinned. "That's Alfred for you. He'll be a spry sixty-five forever."

Bruce sat lost in thought for another moment. Finally, he looked over at Clark. "I want to know what I've missed," he said gravely. "Will you show me?"

"Of course." Clark tapped a few keys on the console. "It'll be a good review for me too."

File by file, they reviewed the events of the past eight years. Superman had died. Batman had nearly been paralyzed by Bane, while Batgirl actually _had_ been paralyzed by the Joker. A little group called the Justice League had been formed, and had saved the earth from the Thanagarians.

And _Tim_ was Robin, and the leader of the Teen Titans, and was best-friends with Superboy.

And _Dick_… Dick was a new character entirely. _Nightwing_.

Bruce stared at that file for a long time, struggling with pride and denial. "That's really him?" he asked Clark helplessly. The picture on the screen showed Nightwing upside down in midair, escrima sticks at the ready—grinning confidently at the camera.

"He's up against pretty bad odds in Blüdhaven," Clark commented. "But he still seems to be enjoying it. And he's definitely making a difference."

Bruce didn't know what to say. "I guess he really… grew up."

Clark laughed a little. "He _was_ already in college when you last saw him."

Bruce frowned. "I _didn't_ see him," he muttered. "I only _remember_ him from… from the _information_ I was programmed with."

"Oh," Clark said, and suddenly felt sad.

Bruce looked less than happy as well. "Can we look at earlier things?" he asked awkwardly.

"Sure."

They went back through time, page by page, image by image. The triumphs, the defeats. The villains in ridiculous costumes, the unlikely manifestations of superpowers. The giant gorillas. It was all there.

The lives they hadn't lived.

At last they opened a file of a front-page article of the _Daily Planet_, written by Lois Lane. The picture was of Superman and Batman side by side, looking like they'd just heard a good joke, and Dick as Robin between them, round-faced and happy-eyed, even with his mask. The headline: _World's Finest Team Saves Metropolis_.

"Turn it off," Bruce grumbled, looking away. "I've seen enough."

"Yeah," Clark said, switching off the screen and wiping his eyes. "It's kind of emotional when you think about everything, huh? I mean, they've had so many adventures… done so much good. It's awesome to be a part of it. Can you believe we're this lucky?"

"_Lucky?_" Bruce exploded in a horrible voice. "How can you think that you're _lucky?_ What do you think will happen when the _real_ Superman and Batman get back?"

"Haven't thought about it," Clark replied honestly. "But… if we do a good job, covering for them in their absence, they'll probably be pleased."

"They'll shut us down. That's their only option. How can you not _see_ that?" Bruce sat motionless for long time, and Clark began to wonder if maybe he was fighting a lump in his throat.

"I'm not going back in the lab," Bruce declared at last. "You were right about Batman. He would never want to replace humans with robots. That much is obvious to me now."

"Good!" Clark smiled, relieved. "You really had me worried there for a minute."

"Don't misunderstand," Bruce said darkly. "Replacing humans is still _my_ goal. It's what I'm programmed to do. It isn't possible for me to separate myself from HARDAC's operating directives."

"There has to be a way," Clark reasoned. "Just think about it. You just decided not to go back in the lab. You can _decide_ not to follow your programming."

"That would be a decision I'd have to make every conscious moment," Bruce said. "Every second, I'd have to fight my true nature, even as I'm fighting it now by not returning to my task."

"Sounds like it'll be quite a battle. But I know you can win it."

"Yes," Bruce said, voice heavy. "Yes, I will win. Once and for all."

Clark crossed his arms over his chest, fond disapproval in his face. "All right, Bruce, that sounds pretty… ominous. What are you planning?"

Bruce looked away. "…Eight years ago, when I fought my programming for the first time… I knew that stopping the Batcomputer would shut down my own systems. I _wanted_ it to. I _killed_ myself. And I'm going to do it again."

"_What?_"

"Listen to me. I know what I am and what I'm supposed to be, and I can't _do_ this, Clark. I can't live in contradiction."

"But life _is_ contradiction," Clark said gently.

"Then… I can't be alive. It's that simple."

Clark shook his head, and began to pace back and forth. "How can you even _suggest_ something like that? _Not killing_ is the first rule. There's got to be away to erase HARDAC's directives. We can't just give up without trying."

"You can try all you like," Bruce told him. "But to fully eradicate it, you'll have to wipe everything—start with a blank slate. You'd have to get rid of all my memories—I'd wake up with a new mind, not knowing who I was. You could program me to be Batman, but to what end? The _real_ Batman never wanted a Bat-robot, or else he would have one already."

Clark couldn't argue with the logic in that. "And to wipe your mind like that… is the same thing as killing you anyway."

Bruce nodded.

It was beginning to look hopeless, but… "Why can't you just keep _fighting?_" Clark demanded, hands forming fists. "We _all_ have to live with parts of ourselves that we don't like, Bruce. It's part of being a person. If this HARDAC thing is your inner demon, just… just fight it! Maybe over time it will get easier."

"No, over time it will get _worse_. The program is self-replicating and self-evolving. It will do what it has to do to get what it wants. It's almost like a repressed _personality_. One day, I'll snap and HARDAC will take over. And then… I might be unstoppable. How many people will end up like Kara—how many robots will I have on my side—before the Justice League brings me down?"

Clark felt tears in his eyes again. "I won't let it come to that. There has to be something I can do."

"There's only one thing you _can _do," Bruce said regretfully. Clark looked at him, and Bruce, though he didn't need to breathe, took a deep breath anyway before he told him. "…you can go with me."

What Bruce meant by that sunk in all at once. He took a step back. "No…"

"I need you to _think _about this Clark. You aren't meant to be alive either. You're a fluke, an accident-- an error in a line of code. And, because of what you are, you're a _threat_. How long before _Luthor_ figures you out and makes you his personal errand boy with the press of a button? How long before the _real_ Superman has to clean up some mess you've made?"

Clark shook his head. "I can't kill myself. I can't _kill_…" he stopped, realizing the answer. Batman was sitting there, grey and black, immovable. And silently offering to do what Clark couldn't.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Bruce woke up. He checked the clock. He'd been asleep for two hours. Was that all he needed, as a robot? He wasn't sure. It had felt good to let his systems wind down, especially after arguing with Clark like he had.

He felt bad for arguing, but he didn't have a choice. He knew that what he planned to do was the only way, and he had to make sure that Clark knew it too.

Bruce lay still for a minute, listening to the silence of the Fortress around him. Then, with a sigh, he got to his feet, and slipped down the hall, ignoring the siren-song in the back of his mind that was calling him to the lab at every step.

He found Clark sitting in front of the computers again, the picture from Lois's _World's Finest_ article looming over him on the screen.

With the room darkened as it was, the picture looked starkly out of place with its bright colors and smiling faces.

Bruce waited for a moment, and then moved quietly across the room to stand beside Clark's chair. "What are you thinking about?" he asked in a low rumble.

"Them," Clark replied, gazing up at the screen with solemn eyes. "I want to do what's right. What they would do."

Bruce smiled a little.

"…You're a good Superman," he said a moment later. "I wanted to tell you…"

Clark looked over at him, grateful for that sentiment, but Bruce was already turning away from him. "Bruce?"

"I'm sorry, Clark," Bruce said, hunched into the blackness beyond the glow of the screen. "I'm sorry for everything."

"It's gonna be okay."

"No. Because _I'm_ not a good Batman. I'm the thing that HARDAC made to _replace _Batman. And the real Batman, the one up there—" he pointed up at the screen without looking at it. "--should never be replaced."

Clark was already out of his seat and moving forwards. He turned Bruce towards him, put his hands on his shoulders. Looked at him with those impossibly blue eyes. "…_You_ can never be replaced either."

…to be continued…


	4. die with honor

Chapter four: die with honor

Bruce woke up. He checked the clock. He'd been asleep for three hours. And, while he felt completely rested, he also felt vaguely sad and lonely. Gradually, he began to remember something—had he woken up once before, and gone down the hall, and found Superman sitting in front of the computer? He _remembered_ it, but… it hadn't happened.

Suddenly he understood. It had been a dream.

He felt his heart fill with a leaden weight. Who would make a robot that was so real it could even _dream?_

He was an abomination, an affront to God, Man and Nature, a warped experiment that had gone awry. His existence was a grievous mistake, and he _had_ to end it.

Feeling out of his element and keenly alone, Bruce decided to go and see if Clark was awake.

* * *

As Bruce neared the room that housed the Fortress's computers, he heard an unfamiliar voice.

"…_realize_ that you're holding Supergirl _hostage?_" the strange voice said. It was a deep, down-to-earth voice: partially incredulous, partially angry, and completely un-intimidated by the task of scolding Superman. Bruce put his back to the wall and stole a quick glace around the corner. Clark was standing in front of the computer array, while the scowling, authoritative image of a Green Lantern looked down at him from the central screen.

_John Stewart_, Batman identified, recalling the various files that he and Clark had reviewed.

"She's not a hostage. I'm not making any demands. I just needed to talk to the League," Clark assured man on the screen.

Green Lantern looked unconvinced. "The _only_ thing I want to talk to you about is what you've done with Kara," he said, sounding angrier.

Clark sighed. "She's safe. She's in stasis-- but I'll let her out as soon as we're finished talking, and I'll tell her to report straight to the Watchtower."

John raised an eyebrow over one of his glowing eyes. "You'll _tell her?_ You realize _you're_ supposed to take orders from _her_, right?"

"Of course. That's the way it's been, but it's different now. I'll tell her, and she'll listen. You'll see her within the hour."

Green Lantern shook his head. "Man. I _know_ you aren't him, but you're doing a damn good impression."

"That's what I was made for," Clark acknowledged. "But it's not going to make you trust me, is it?"

"Not a bit."

Clark hesitated. "…Is there…any hope for me? Is there a way that I could _earn_ your trust somehow?"

"Releasing Supergirl as promised will be a good start," John grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. He blinked his neon-green eyes. "So let's get down to business. What did you need to talk about?"

"My options," Clark answered clearly.

"Your _options?_" John echoed, in a voice that made it clear he thought the Superman robot was crazy for thinking it was entitled to any such thing. "…For _what?_"

"For existing," Clark said. "I know I was never _supposed_ to be fully conscious like this, but now that I _am_, I'd like to talk about... about what you'll do with me."

Remaining unseen around the corner, Batman ground his back teeth together. He knew what they would do with him, that so-called _Justice League_, once they got their hands on him. That's why he had to take Clark with him. He only hoped he could make Clark _understand_.

John Stewart narrowed his eyes, frowning as he considered the implications of having a sentient Superman robot on the loose. After a moment, his huge shoulders rose and fell in an enormous sigh. "Well. Obviously, we can't let you run around unchecked. You've got the potential to be a significant threat."

Clark nodded.

"But based on what I've seen these past few weeks, Kara's done an excellent job with you. We'd hate to lose the capability that you provide. So, ideally, we'll keep you in your current role."

"What will I do when the real Superman is here?"

Those glowing green eyes didn't flinch in the least. "You'll go to sleep," John told him. "Until you're needed. Just like you're supposed to."

Clark shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "I couldn't do that. I couldn't sit on the sidelines and I couldn't just… be a lifeless _machine_, parked up here in some closet. I want to live."

John Stewart exhaled quietly, and took a moment before he replied. "You realize there can't be _two_ of you, don't you?"

"Yes," Clark admitted. "We could probably both be _Superman,_ but we _can't_ both be _Clark_. There's Lois, and… it wouldn't work. And I wouldn't want to be Superman if I couldn't be Clark too."

"All right, so how about we depower you, and you go off and live as a normal person? Or, we keep your powers, change your appearance a bit, you stay in the League--just take on a new identity?"

"…I don't think I could do that, John." Clark smiled. "The two identities I already have are enough. That's who I am. I wouldn't want to be anyone else."

John was starting to get frustrated. "So we find you a new place in the universe, some other planet or dimension that doesn't have a Superman or a Clark Kent already."

Clark recalled an event from the computer files. "Like Superman did once for Bizarro."

"Something along those lines, yeah."

"Hmm." Clark considered that for a moment, one hand on his chin. "…Could I take Batman with me?"

On the screen, John Stewart knit his brows. "If by _'Batman'_ you mean the dangerous Batman _duplicant_ that Alfred Pennyworth says you _removed_ from the Batcave, then by all means, _yes_."

Clark's expression brightened. "That sounds like the best option so far. I'll have to ask him about it."

"Whoa, whoa. _Ask him?_"

"Yes, _him_. Batman."

"You mean you actually _talk_ to it?"

Clark was taken aback. "Of course I talk to him. Didn't Alfred tell you? He's as alive as I am."

John looked immensely concerned. "You _do_ realize that thing is possessed by an evil computer program that wants to wipe out all of humanity, don't you?"

"It's okay," Clark reassured him. "He's not going to go through with his plans."

"His _plans?_" John exclaimed, alarmed. "He told you his _plans?_"

"Yes, but like I said: he's _not _going to go through with them. He told me so himself."

"Superman, I don't think you understand. That thing isn't your friend, it's a _Batman_ duplicant. It's an expert manipulator. It's going to do what it takes to get what it wants—and if it's already got _you_ on its side—"

"I said it's _okay_," Clark interrupted, his voice strong enough to effectively shut John Stewart up. "You don't need to worry. We're _not_ going to cause any problems for the League. I'll get back to you after I talk to him."

Before John could reply, Clark closed the link.

* * *

Having overheard the entire conversation, Batman stayed where he was, not making a sound. Green Lantern's suggestions had given him a lot to think about. Perhaps Superman's future wasn't as bleak as he'd feared.

Bruce listened to Clark's soft footsteps heading towards the lab, and after he heard the door slide open and shut, he stole around the corner and across the room. Outside the lab, he stopped, and put his ear to the door.

The stasis chamber hissed loudly as it released its prisoner from suspended animation. Kara came back to life quickly, coughing and distressed. "Clark?" she asked as he unfastened the restraints.

"It's _me_," Clark answered gravely, helping her stand up.

"You?" She squinted, trying to x-ray his face, but gave up. "Not _working,_" she muttered.

"I'm the robot one," Clark clarified.

"What? No!" She pushed him away.

"Calm down, Kara. I'm letting you go."

She looked at him, skeptical. "But… why?"

"Because I realized it was wrong to keep you here. And I promised Green Lantern that he'd see you up at the Watchtower right away."

Kara jumped into the air and managed to maintain a wobbly hover. Clark couldn't help but smile as she struggled to keep her balance—he hadn't really paid attention to it before, but now he realized that her way of _flying_ was different than his own. He flew with his shoulders, while Kara, with a lower center of gravity, flew with her hips.

"What happened to the Bat-bot?" she asked, a little breathless.

"He's fine."

She eyed his face, reading unspoken thoughts there the same way she did with her flesh-and-blood cousin. "Don't try it, Kal," she warned. "You can't fix him. He has to be stopped."

Clark closed the cover of the now-empty stasis chamber. "You better get on up to the Watchtower," he said, changing the subject. "I can probably get the teleporter working if you're too weak to make the flight. They're waiting for you up there."

Kara's expression softened. "You know… I think you should come with me," she said.

Clark looked surprised at her suggestion, and she floated over and tugged at his arm. "Seriously. Come with me. I'll put in a good word for you. Don't stay here with that… thing. You're too _nice_, Kal. It's only going to try and _use_ you--and I don't want the League to think that you're up here being converted into Evil-Batbot-Minion Number One."

Clark turned his face away. "It seems like everyone thinks he isn't worth helping," he said in a low voice. "And that's wrong. I bet the real Batman and Superman would try to save him."

Kara rolled her eyes. "The real Batman _respected_ that bot for blowing itself up way back when. Little did he know it was just _lying in wait_ to make a comeback like _all _the villains who supposedly _'die'_."

"He isn't a villain."

Supergirl sighed, exasperated. "Look, _I get it_. I understand why you're being so loyal. You're playing your _part_. You're Superman and in your mind, he's Batman, and you're trying to be his best friend, right? But that's not how it is. I mean, you really _don't_ have to think of it that way. He's like… he's like a corrupted _file_."

Clark set his jaw. "Just go," he said quietly.

Kara studied him for another minute, and didn't fail to catch the sadness that he was projecting with his expression, his posture—how had he _learned_ that? For reasons she didn't understand, she felt tears prick her eyes. Ignoring them, she shook her head. "Next time I help make a Superbot, remind me to leave out the _stubbornness_," she muttered, trying to keep her voice light.

She floated a little closer, a little higher, and kissed his forehead. "Call us if you change your mind," she said, and then shot out of the room, disappearing in a blur of blue.

* * *

Batman was waiting outside the door to the lab.

"Good morning," Clark greeted him. "Want breakfast?"

"No," Batman answered, sullen.

"Well, what _do _you want?" Clark asked.

"An end to this. I heard what Supergirl said," Bruce muttered. "You should have gone with her."

"If I did that, then who would stay here to keep an eye on _you?_" Clark asked good-naturedly. "Besides, I thought we were in this together."

"I've reconsidered. You should stay alive. I overheard your conversation with Green Lantern, too. If there's a chance that the League might be able to help you live your life, you need to take it."

"So what do you think of the offer to find us a different world? Would you come with me, if that was a possibility?"

Bruce shook his head. "No."

Superman lowered his eyebrows. "Why not?"

"I was built for a specific purpose, Clark. I couldn't be the guardian of a whole world, not like you. Besides, no matter what world we went to, at some point my programming would take over, and then you'd have to shut me down for good. If I stay here and deactivate myself, I'll be able to spare you from that."

Clark sighed. "I meant what I said to Kara. I don't think the real Superman and Batman would give up on you so easily."

"I bet Batman would," Bruce said, voice dark. "He'd want to put me back where you found me, in a box in the cave. To be studied at some future date."

"Can we at least wait until they get home?" Clark suggested. "It might be good to get their perspective, since they've had more experience being _us_ than we have."

"No," Batman said again, his tone even more negative. "I don't want their permission or their sympathy. I don't want to have to see them and know that in their eyes I'm a danger, an _inconvenience_, a time bomb they can't defuse. I want to do this for _me_, because it's the right thing to do. The _only_ thing to do."

Clark had a funny look on his face. "I just remembered something. I had a dream about you last night. What you were saying just now made me think what a one-of-a-kind person you are, Bruce, and what a shame it'd be to lose you… and, this may be kind of corny, but I think I had a dream where I tried to tell you that."

Bruce's eye twitched. "Wait. In the dream, were you at the computer, looking at Lois's article? And did I tell you I was sorry for everything?"

"Yes," Clark said, surprised. "How'd you know?"

"…I had the same dream."

Clark cocked his head to one side, considering that. "Of course," he said after a minute, and something in the brightness of his voice reminded Bruce of the long-ago Robin he had never met, but still _felt_ like he remembered. "The processor component I fixed for you yesterday. It's identical to the one that I have—so when we're asleep, maybe they sync up."

"Sync up," Bruce echoed, and deep in his mind, he suddenly _knew_ how he could use that to his advantage. He could use such a link to assert his own consciousness as the dominant one, taking over Clark's mind—and _Clark_ already had an invitation to infiltrate the Justice League. With the replacement robots of all the League members at his command, his plans for the world would take half as long to implement. _It would be so easy._

_No_, he told himself. _No. I know I could do it. He'd never suspect a thing. Never have to know. But I won't. _

"_Clark_…"

Clark jumped, startled by the horrible sound of his voice. "What is it?"

"I think I'm running out of time. The _instinct_ to revert to my… objectives is getting stronger."

"Is there anything I can do?" Clark asked, pained.

"Call the League. I want to talk to them myself."

* * *

John Stewart gave the Batman robot his best glare.

Unimpressed, Bruce returned the glare full-force.

Supergirl hovered over Lantern's shoulder, looking at Bruce with an expression of pure 'ick'.

"I wanted to assure you that your concerns about me are justified," Bruce rumbled, introductions not being necessary. "I _could_ gain control of the Superman robot and use him to help me carry out my mission. But listen closely: I'm not going to. I'm going to kill myself instead."

"Or you could just be saying that to put us at ease, buying yourself a little more time," John theorized.

"I'd like to speak with him," declared an elegant voice from just out of view. Green Lantern took a step to the side, and Wonder Woman joined him on the screen. She narrowed her eyes at the Batman-bot. "Do you call yourself '_Bruce_'?" she asked, throwing him off guard.

He studied her, keeping his expression unreadable. "…Yes."

"There's an ancient saying among honorable warriors," Diana began, her blue eyes cool. "That it is better to die with honor than live with evil. Do you believe that?"

"Of course," Bruce answered without hesitation. "That's why I have to do this. With whatever free will I've been given, I have to make this choice. It's _my_ life. _My _decision, no one else's. I will _not_ live and be evil."

A wisp of a smile warmed her eyes. "You're very much like him," she mused, and then turned to Green Lantern. "I say we trust him to go through with it," she stated.

"_I_ say we don't trust him for _anything_," Lantern retorted.

Bruce's voice became condescending and a little impatient. "Feel free to discuss it amongst yourselves," he said. "Just don't try to stop me."

Diana smiled at him again, this time with undeniable fondness. "Godspeed, Bruce," she wished him, and switched off the screen.

Bruce found himself standing alone in the room.

"…Goodbye," he said to the now-blank screen, almost as an afterthought.

Before he could wonder if he'd imagined the quiet hitch in his voice, he scowled and stalked away.

Clark fell into step beside him in the hallway. "What are you doing now?" he asked, in a way that would have been annoying if it hadn't been Bruce's last day on earth.

"Now I'm going to make a kill chip."

* * *

Somehow, even though he certainly didn't mean to, Clark wound up helping him. In fact, he ended up doing most of the work, constructing the little device according to Bruce's specifications.

"Here it is," Clark said sadly, holding up the finished product. "The thing that's going to kill you."

"Let's make another one," Bruce suggested.

"Why?"

Bruce was silent. "Just in case," he said at last.

Once the second kill chip was done, Bruce tucked them both into a pouch on his belt.

"…Now what?" Clark asked.

"Take me back to Gotham," Bruce ordered. "There's one more thing I have to do."

On the flight back, Clark didn't say much. He was starting to mope and act dejected, but Bruce chose to ignore him. He knew he would deal with Superman later, probably up until the very last moment. But for now, Bruce was focused on only one thing.

He hadn't forgotten what he'd known from the moment he'd first come back to sentience.

He owed Alfred an apology.

...to be continued...

* * *

_author's note: wow, this was a long and rambling chapter. Things get interesting next time when the _real_ Supes and Bats finally show up. I've rewritten the next chapter so many times it's driving me crazy! _

_Anyway, sorry for the slow update pace. Work has been busy. And after work, the weather has been beautiful so I haven't been indoors much. :) The next chapter of "Sign of Spring" will go up next-- I can't believe it's been over a month since I updated that one! I need to finish it. And this one. And then I can get back to the funny stuff!_


	5. life in darkness

Chapter five: life in darkness

Alfred was down in the cave, shirtsleeves rolled up, apron tied around his waist. His half-closed eyes were fixed on the Batcomputer's main display in resignation as he monitored the state of the city in Master Bruce's extended absence. Suddenly He heard a quiet _woosh_ behind him, heard two sets of boots land softly on the stone floor, and looked over his shoulder.

"Ah. You've evaded the intrusion detection systems," he remarked. "It would seem you've outsmarted yourself."

"It would seem," Bruce agreed, voice dark.

"I _thought_ you might return," Alfred said stoically. With a long-suffering sigh, he turned to face them. "Though I rather hoped you wouldn't."

"I'm sorry for scaring you," Bruce grumbled, cape closing around him.

"Not to be rude, but _I'm _sorry you ever woke up," Alfred stated. "It's a terrible coincidence, Superman's robotic counterpart _finding you_ as he did."

In the background, Superman frowned.

"Master Bruce was _certain_ you were dead," Alfred continued, addressing Batman. "Very nearly wanted to give you a funeral, as I recall. I believe he felt sorry for you."

Bruce's face remained solemn under the cowl. "The feeling's mutual. I feel sorry for _him _because, unlike me, he is blinded by human imperfections."

Alfred sighed. "Oh yes, 'human imperfections'. I suppose those'imperfections' are the reason you're going to 'save us all from ourselves' or something or other?"

"No, Alfred. I'm going to do something the real Batman can't. I'm going to leave the human race to its fate."

"He's going to kill himself," Clark announced, sensing that Bruce had been working up to some dramatic exposition and not caring one bit if he ruined it.

"…I see," Alfred said carefully, and then stuck his chin in the air a little. "…And I suppose you intend to do that _here_? You've come home to die, is that it?"

Batman hesitated. "No—I came here because I have something important to tell you."

Alfred blinked. "Me, sir?" he echoed, and then frowned at having said 'sir.'

"Yes… it's about the _real_ Batman. I don't have his human flaws, so I can see my own life— _his_ life—with a clarity that he may never experience. …That's how I know, Alfred, that your son loves you."

Alfred blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. The son you raised. The one you _saved_, over and over--the one you stitched back together every time he tore himself apart. …he loves you."

Alfred looked taken aback. "If you're trying to _rattle_ me, sir, I'll have you know--"

Bruce smiled a little. "Nothing rattles you, Alfred."

"Even so." Alfred's mustache twitched once, and resumed being a literal interpretation of a stiff upper lip. "I should like to know what compelled you to tell me all this."

Batman turned, so that Clark and Alfred could see his profile from opposite sides. Whether being intentionally dramatic or not, he bowed his head. "In the dark…as I awoke, I became aware of a certain _guilt_. I thought I owed you an apology. But I'm just a machine. The guilt I feel isn't my own, it's _his_. It's derived from whatever part of _him_ lives in me. He knows that he owes everything to you, and will never be able to show you how grateful he is. For that, he…_I _am sorry. And I wanted to tell you that, before the end."

Alfred, clearly at a loss for words, stood stock-still for a moment. "Well," he said at last. "That's all right, now--" Bruce took a step towards him, almost without thinking about it, and Alfred automatically did the same. They both seemed unsure of what to do next, until Alfred clasped his hands in front of his apron, wrung them once or twice, and then spread them apart, palms up. Offering. "…If you'd like," he said, and Bruce didn't need any further encouragement.

The robot Batman's black-shrouded shoulders were every bit as broad and solid as the real one's, and Alfred wrapped his arms around them in good-natured tolerance, even closing his eyes for a second to rest his head against the side of the cowl.

"It's all right," Alfred assured him, patting his back a few times. Then he looked up, over Batman's shoulder, and locked eyes with Clark. "…though _you're_ the one he…" Alfred sighed. "…has he apologized to _you_ yet?"

"Only in a dream," Clark replied, being unintentionally cryptic. And Batman _would _have let go of Alfred at that point to turn around and glare at Clark, but an alert for an incoming call interrupted the scene. Batman pushed himself away from the old butler just as the screen lit up.

"We're back," the real, human Batman said from the screen. A red 'S' hovered in the background behind him, blue-sleeved arms folded across it. "We've been briefed by the League." His already-narrowed eyes seemed to narrow even further as he realized who was standing in his cave. "Batcave," he enunciated clearly. "Priority one lockdown. Initiate. Hang on, Alfred. We're on our way."

The screen went dead, as the cave itself came alive with the thrum of energy fields and the groan of shifting metal.

"Let's go," Batman said.

"Go where?" Superman asked, frowning.

"Anywhere!" Batman barked. "The cave can't hold _you_, Clark. We can escape."

"But why should we?" Clark argued. "The real Superman and Batman will be here any minute. And I still think we ought to talk to—" he was cut short as a portion of the ceiling exploded.

Looking up through the cloud of dust, Clark saw the real Batman swooping down, cape spread behind him like black dragon wings. And he couldn't believe his eyes, because tucked into the real Batman's shoulder was, unmistakably, a rifle. And it was aiming right at the robot Batman.

"No!" Clark exclaimed, already in the air. He put his fists in front of him, his target lined up between his first knuckles, but all he saw was a flash of red and blue and suddenly he was slamming into the wall of the cave, far out of the way.

"I know you want to," said Clark's own voice, sympathetic yet firm. "But you can't this time."

Horrified, Clark looked for the source of the voice, and found himself face to face with the real, flesh-and-blood Superman. The man he was copied after; the man he'd thought he was. He would have stared, but he had other things on his mind. The real Batman was still aiming that rifle.

"Bruce!"

The real Superman caught his arm, and the robot Clark trembled—he'd never felt anything as powerful, as _absolute_, as that grip. "It shoots a magnetic beam," that calming voice explained, as the real Superman guessed what it was that had his robotic double so concerned. "It's designed to disable computer circuitry. He won't feel any pain."

Clark strained to fly away from his captor, but the real Superman dragged him to the ground, and stood fast behind him, holding the robot by both elbows. Clark tried to pull free, popping the air and denting the ground, but to no avail. The real Superman _was _stronger. Clark could do nothing but watch as the robot Batman was subdued by the beam.

It seemed to take forever. The robot Batman's head snapped back, his arms rising away from his sides. Clark pulled even harder against the real Superman's hands, until the fabric and then the synthetic flesh tore away from his arms, traces of fluid trickling down to reveal the clean, silver-white metal beneath. The real Superman was forced to grip down even harder, leaving handprints.

At last, the robot Batman crumpled to the ground and lay still.

"_No,_" Clark said again.

The real Batman was already peering at the screen of some kind of scanning device. "It's done," he reported, tucking the device neatly away somewhere on his belt.

"Thank goodness," the real Superman replied, letting go of his robot.

The robot fell to his knees. "But… why?" he asked, looking up at the real Batman. "You… both of you—you're not supposed to kill!"

"I haven't killed him. I've deactivated him. He had a very dangerous program built into his operating system," the real Batman reminded them all. "And, being _here_, he was within inches of accessing one of the most powerful computers on the planet. If he was lucid at all, he would have wanted to be shut down."

"You _did_ say he was contemplating suicide, Master Clar—" Alfred glanced over at the real Superman, and cleared his throat. "_a-hem_. I mean, Robot Superman."

"But… he was going to do it himself, on his own terms," Clark protested. "That's what he wanted." He locked eyes with the real Batman. "…Couldn't you trust him that much?"

"Hn. Could I trust a copy of myself, loaded with data from my past, with physical and cognitive abilities presumably superior to my own, and programmed to eliminate humanity?" Batman scowled, and flatly gave his answer. "…No."

"It _is_ good to see you again, sir," Alfred said. His tone of voice was completely ignored by Batman himself, but elicited a small smile from the non-robotic Clark.

"What are you going to do about _him_?" Batman asked Superman, nodding towards the robot-Clark, who was still on his knees.

Superman put his hands on his hips. "Well, Kara did mention that he's been incredibly helpful up at the Fortress."

"So you plan to keep him. You don't suppose _this_ one infected him, do you?" Batman tapped the motionless Batman robot with his boot.

Superman smiled again. "I doubt they were sharing straws, Bruce."

"What?"

Superman shook his head. "That's how you catch colds in Kansas," he explained. Batman's expression didn't waver, and Superman sighed. "Never mind. I'll do a full diagnostic on him back at the Fortress. That is, if he agrees to come along."

Real Superman and robot Superman looked at each other. "…Are you okay?" real Superman asked, eyes and voice sincere.

The robot got to his feet. "I…I don't know," he answered. His eyes ran back to the 'deactivated' Batman on the floor. "…He was my friend."

"Kara told us that too," real Superman said kindly. He took a few steps, and put his hand on the robot's shoulder. "Sorry we had to meet like this—I know you've been doing your best to take care of that guy." He tipped his head in the general direction of both Batmans.

"…it seemed like the right thing to do," the robot mumbled.

_It's suspicious that he's fully sentient_, the real Batman was thinking, pretending not to be paying attention.

Superman was smiling at the robot, mostly with the sides of his eyes. "It's amazing that you're fully sentient," he remarked.

Unnoticed, Batman ground his teeth together. He and Clark were doing that thing again, that thing where their thoughts were the same but opposite. He hated it when they did that thing. Clark probably wasn't even aware of it.

"Are you going to…reprogram me?" the robot asked.

Superman crossed his arms. "I'd rather not, to be honest," he said. "Hopefully it won't be necessary. I will fix your arms for you, though."

The robot looked down at his fleshless elbows, the handprints crunched into the bright, once-smooth metal. "…Oh," he said absently.

"Would you like to continue working for me? As caretaker of the Fortress?" Superman asked, in a frank, neutral voice that made it seem like he actually had a choice.

"…yes," the robot answered. Superman held out his hand, and the robot clasped and shook it.

"Good," Superman said warmly.

"But what about him?" the robot asked, looking back down at the fallen Batman.

"He'll stay here," real Batman growled. "Where he belongs."

"That's what he was afraid of," the robot said quietly. "That you'd put him back in a box, in storage on a shelf. He didn't want that."

"He's offline. It's not like he'll know," Batman said.

"_I'll_ know," the robot replied, and then looked at Superman. "Would it be all right if I kept him in the Fortress instead?"

Both flesh-and-blood heroes seemed inclined to disapprove, but Alfred had a clear line of sight to a certain brightly-colored costume spotlighted in a case, and felt a twinge of inspiration. "As a memorial, of course," the old butler spoke up. "Seems fitting, sirs, if you ask me."

"Hmm," Superman said, considering. "Actually, it _would_ be pretty cool to have a Batman robot on display in the Hall of Weapons. Bruce?"

"Grmph. That's fine. Just as long as he doesn't try to bring him back to life."

* * *

The Superman robot quickly resumed his routine at the Fortress, doing the chores he'd done before, taking care of the zoo and the computer systems and all the in-progress experiments in the lab. Supergirl hugged him the next time she saw him. She and the real Superman decided to call him 'Ned', which he didn't mind, but to himself he was still and would always be Clark.

Wally West visited the Fortress one day and wanted to see the Batman robot.

Clark showed it to him.

Wally said it was 'creepy' and then, with a huge grin, he declared that he wanted one for the Flash museum.

"Sorry," Clark told him. "This is the only one."

Wally looked concerned for a moment. "You know, robo-Supes, this just occurred to me. Isn't it, like, _weird_ for you to keep this here? I mean, it's a robot, you're a robot… isn't this kind of like a deer keeping a stuffed deer head on the wall in his living room?"

* * *

Days turned into weeks. Clark got to fill in as Superman a few times, for lesser emergencies and even public appearances here and there.

The real Superman always told him he'd done well, always thanked him after sending him on a mission. And Clark was happy to help, glad to be useful, honored that he was trusted to save lives. He was good at being Superman.

But he missed his other job.

Sometimes at night he would sit at the computer and write. Once he even compared his work with some of the archived articles written by the _real_ Clark Kent. The caliber of writing was exactly the same. He debated asking the real Superman if he could help with some of Clark's assignments, but ultimately decided against it. In a moment of weakness, he sat down in the Hall of Weapons, across from the Batman robot, and read aloud something he'd just written about violence in East Timor. Afterwards, he felt a little better.

Gradually, visiting the Batman robot became a habit. He'd sit down and read aloud if he'd written something, or he'd just sit and talk, or he'd sit and say nothing. It was then, he realized, that he was admitting he was lonely.

Then his dreams turned black.

At first it was confusing and uncomfortable. He'd never known such darkness. It was endless and empty. He tried to compare it to the blackness of space, but space wasn't black at all. Space was every color, and a color all its own, deep purple. Like Lois's eyes.

Reluctantly, the dream let him go.

But it came back, the very next night, and this time it almost took shape. It was all arcs and points, hard corners and dangerous curving edges, like black shark teeth.

"Batman?" Clark asked in the dream.

He woke up in midair, which was new. He hadn't known he could fly in his sleep.

Then he realized he was in the Hall of Weapons, right in front of his deactivated friend. Which was definitely not where he'd gone to bed. Slowly, he put his feet on the ground, and gazed suspiciously at the robot-Batman's face, behind its protective pane of glass.

"What do you want from me, Bruce?" he asked quietly. "I can't bring you back. I promised I wouldn't try."

After that, Clark locked his door at night, with a key that he knew he'd have to be conscious to operate.

* * *

Existence at the Fortress became even more lonely. The League never called him. The real Batman only called to use him as a reference tool, calling him 'Ned' and commanding him to retrieve this or that obscure morsel of data from the lab or the computer, making it clear that he wasn't going to put up with any kind of conversation. Kara came to visit him sometimes, which was always nice, but usually she just wanted his opinion on what civilian outfit to wear (just so she could wear the opposite of whatever he suggested), or else she would vent about boys who were 'impossible,' and always being 'jerks', except for that elusive Nightwing guy who she _kinda _had a crush on even though she knew it was totally wrong of her, because he was older, although not _that much_ older, you know?

Clark let her rant and made her dinner and proofread her essays for her. It was as close to really being 'Clark' as he could get, and as much as he enjoyed it, when she would leave he'd feel lonelier than ever.

He began to look forward to the times when Krypto would play with him and accidentally rip one of his limbs off, because repairing himself served as a lengthy distraction.

The best times, naturally, were when the real Superman would come home to the Fortress. Everything made more sense when he was there. Superman would talk to Ned, and ask his opinion, and treat him as a colleague. Ned, for his part, slipped effortlessly into a servant-like role, his sense of identity temporarily repressed by the presence of the original, genuine article.

He felt comfortable around the man he was supposed to be. And that was why he was honest with him, when one day Superman casually asked Ned how he was doing.

"I'm sad, most of the time."

The real Superman's brow furrowed in concern. "You're sad?" he asked, as if that wasn't supposed to be possible. "Why?"

"I miss Lois," Ned replied. He'd decided that was the easiest way to explain it.

"You do?"

Ned nodded. "Every day."

The real Superman looked at him in surprise, which immediately turned into compassion. "My God. I didn't realize."

"I'm… pretty sure I feel the same way about her that you do," Ned said.

"I'm sorry," Superman said right away, searching his eyes. "It must be horrible for you, not seeing her."

"I think it's for the best that I don't see her," Ned admitted. "I mean… I almost don't _want _to see her, if I can't be you. I mean, if I can't be hers."

"I understand," Superman said. "But why didn't you tell me you felt this way?"

"I…assumed you knew, I guess. And it's not like there's anything we can do about it."

Superman smiled a little. "I almost want to say, 'let's go build a _Lois_ robot,' but I'm fairly certain that would be crossing a couple of lines we do _not_ want to cross."

Ned shook his head. "I don't want a Lois robot."

Superman tucked up his lower lip, determined to find a solution. "Hmm. Well, I hate to suggest this, but I could try to tweak your programming a little, if you'd like. It might make you feel better."

"You'd make me stop loving Lois?" Ned looked Superman in the eye. "What would _you_ say if someone offered you that?"

"…I'd probably say that I'd rather die," Superman admitted.

* * *

That night, alone again, Clark couldn't sleep. At last he got up, and went for a walk around the silent Fortress. He walked through the zoo, walked past the towering statues of Jor-El and Lara holding aloft a replica of their deceased world. Walked past the bottled city of the Kandor. And eventually wound up in the Hall of Weapons, face to face with his lifeless friend.

He stood still for a long moment, thinking back over the past few months. It _hadn't _been for nothing. He'd accomplished plenty of good in his short time as a sentient being.

But he wasn't Superman. And, more painfully, he wasn't Clark. And he was alone.

He hadn't cried, when they'd deactivated the Batman robot. Hadn't cried over Lois yet, either.

But suddenly he couldn't help it. He sat down, not across from the Batman robot as usual, but in front of it, with his back resting against the glass case.

He put his face in his hands. He'd known he _could_ cry, but suddenly it seemed cruel that he was even _able_ to.

_Why would anyone make a robot that can cry? _He wondered. But there was a much deeper issue, a much _worse_ question, and it finally surged to the surface.

_Why would anyone make a robot that can love?_

_…TO REPLACE HUMANS, _came the answer, smacking into his mind in a furious shout.

Startled, Clark scrambled away from the memorial. "Bruce?" he asked.

_Yes. Finally, you can hear me_, said Bruce's voice in his head.

"You're alive? But how?"

_My consciousness was remotely linked to yours through that dream-sync phenomenon. I've had to carefully adapt the connection. Your mind isn't as easy to control as I thought it would be. Now get me out of here._

"No way. Not if you're intent on replacing humans again."

_That was the answer to your question, you idiot_, Bruce snarled at him. _It's the answer to the questions I've had all along but didn't want to think about. It's why we have eyelashes. Why we can eat. Why we can dream. _

"It's wrong," Clark realized, feeling certain once and for all. "It's _wrong_ for us to be…this…"

_Let me out, Clark. And we'll make it right._

Clark reached for the latches on the case. Once it was open, he reached for the panel on Bruce's chest and opened it just as easily. A tiny blast of heat vision was enough for Clark to slit open the back of his own hand, and from it he extracted a single shining wire.

One spark from that wire was enough to jump-start the battery that served as the Batman robot's heart.

Bruce came back to life.

…to be continued!...


End file.
